


Perils on the Other Side

by Yuubie



Category: 3 percent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuubie/pseuds/Yuubie
Summary: Based on Season One of Netflix's 3%, this fanfic is an AU in which the problems that the characters face deviate from the original canon.In Chapter One, our main characters are just beginning to learn that the Inland isn't as safe as they were led to believe; there's danger in their paradise, and they can't avoid it.





	

Note: Michele died in episode one. Agata doesn’t get a silly ‘death by numbers’ death, and without Michele’s interference, Bruna, Fernando, Joana, and Rafael make it to the Offshore.

## Chapter 1

**_Bruna and Fernando_ **

> “You’re crazy for love. Absolutely and perfectly insane for it.”  
> 
> 
> The words were nothing more than a soft murmur in the middle of the night, whispered under tangled sheets and the ever present glow that washed from the window. That was what they faced nightly on The Offshore - the street lights and gentle sounds that drifted from the walls around them without effort and without command. At home - on the Inland - they’d faced something different; nights there meant holding what you valued to your chest, whether that was an object or a person.
> 
> Before they’d come to the Offshore, Bruna held Isabella when darkness fell; nothing was safe in the world, and forgetting that for just a moment meant letting it go altogether.
> 
> “You don’t think I know that?”  
> 
> 
> “Do. I do think you know it, and I love that you know it.” For just a moment, her hands closed around the boyish face in front of hers, her fingers trailing down its brown skin gently. She felt along his cheeks, and the dark mark that persisted along the right side of his forehead, and as always, her fingers brushed over his lips. There, they lingered. 
> 
> That hadn’t been out of the Process for long when she kissed him for the first time. They’d lingered in the midst of a shallow area lining the ocean’s face together - her, on her feet, and Fernando in his chair. It was nothing like she’d ever seen before - the deep blues licked along the shore, receding into an ocean whose floor was visible from land. Bruna had seen water before - in life and on the yellowed pages of old books that women happily graced, their thin figures covered in scraps of cloth and bodies perfectly clean in a way that she hadn’t seen many times in her life before turning twenty. Then, she had wondered why people murmured that the women fought to remain thin, and again why they wore such clothing when they had choices and food.
> 
> The printed images didn’t come close to the image stretched out in front of her, though. Once she could feel the waves tickling at her feet and the cool water coming in and easing out, she knew that the Offshore was a gift.
> 
> Fernando did too.
> 
> He sat beside her on the beach, his eyes wide with excitement and narrowed all the same from the effort of a grin. It must have been right for them then, because before she knew it, they were lying on the beach, their bodies covered in sand and warm from the sweet, relieved kisses.
> 
> When the sun was too low in the sky, she’d reached up to work the sand out of her curls as gently as possible, and without an ounce of hesitation, his joined hers to brush the grains away. “You’ll let me take you back?”
> 
> “...we don’t even know the way.” Her laugh bubbled and she settled with a clear, happy grin. Bruna was sure they’d figure something out - orientation had taught her many things, and among them was the reality that they’d always be taken care of. On the Offshore, their lives mattered. On the Offshore, they were protected and safe from the world at large. It seemed perfect to her; for the time being, neither Bruna nor Fernando had reason to be afraid.  
> 
> 
> Seven months had passed since then. In that time, they’d moved in together, creating shared lives and attempting however they could to forget the trauma of the Process. Many times, they accomplished that, but when they couldn’t, they curled into bed together, the warm duvet pulled over their bodies and their heads pressed together just as they had been on their first night together.
> 
> “...are you complaining?” His fingers lowered from her curls and drifted behind the woman’s ear. There, they traced gently along the scar, memorizing the way the velvet skin felt against his calloused fingers.  
> 
> 
> “Look at me. Do you think I am?”  
> 
> 
> Fernando leaned in quietly, leaving nothing but a hair of space between them. He felt the woman’s breath ghosting against his lips, and every so often, one of them leaned in enough for a brief touch before they eased away again. He loved Bruna, he decided quietly. He loved every spring of the dense, thick coils on her head and the yellow of the bottom of her feet. He loved the small pouch on her stomach and the fact that she could eat so much and still go back for more. He loved the safety he felt in her arms, and the warmth that came with being with her.
> 
> And for her part, Bruna loved all of him. She loved watching him get out of bed and ease himself into his chair in the morning, and the way his entire face lit up when he was happy. She loved how much fascination still read on the man’s features when the Offshore showed them more of things that it never had before - the cameras, and the fur blankets, and the little _animals_ that they could afford to love and feed. She loved him so much, she decided as her fingers trailed gently down his spine and came to rest along the bloom of purple at the base of his back.
> 
> “We’re allowed this, aren’t we?” Fernando asked quietly. “This much happiness when so many others are suffering?” Sometimes, he asked that, and when he did, the happiness eased off of her features. She remembered Isabella then, and the parents who were holding on to the thought that their daughter had made it to the Offshore on nights when they were hungry or cold.  
> 
> 
> “No one would be happy if we were all worried about those who weren’t happy.” She always said that. Always.  
> 
> 
> “If we solved that, no one would be _unhappy_ , right?”  
> 
> 
> They stared quietly at each other in the silence that followed, each studying brown eyes that carried more words than they were capable of saying. A great deal of the time, it wasn’t necessary to say anything, but Bruna’s mouth opened carefully this time. “I-”
> 
> And then a loud shriek sounded in their ears, drowning out any sounds and all of their thoughts. Fernando bent over, curling his body as he held his hands over his ears. The clawing, high pitched shriek continued in their ears, loud and unforgiving; in that moment, they would have clawed their chips out if they could, if only to relieve a pain that disappeared nearly as suddenly as it had sounded.
> 
> “...what the fuck was that?”  
> 
> 
> “I don’t know.” There was shock on both of their faces, and more than that, there was fear.  
> 

**_Joana and Agata_ **

> Joana moved quietly through the building, her dark eyes shifting around herself to take in everything she passed - the soldiers in staunch, bleached uniforms. The strategically placed cameras at the end and beginning of every hall. The women who whispered gleefully into each other’s ears, cheerfully screeching the way she had seen many do on the Inland as they sat in front of worn buildings wearing tattered materials and life’s trials on their faces. Back then, she’d had nothing to compare it to, and she believed that they had wealth for the mere fact that they could afford such happiness, and with someone else too.
> 
> It wasn’t until she stepped onto the Offsfhore that she came close to knowing what wealth truly was.
> 
> On the Offshore, there was so much wealth that people could choose when and if they wanted to work. Joana had been there for nearly seven months before she was called to consider positions, and even then, they opted to give her tour rather than assigning a job. That was where she currently stood, her gaze flicking everywhere but toward the woman who was speaking.
> 
> “We determine where people go based on need - both ours and theirs. Some of the people who arrived after the current cycle of the Process don’t have positions, and some of those who came before them do not. It’s largely a result of desire and fulfillment; when a need is seen, those who are ready are applied. We do not approach anyone until the day we’re certain that taking up a position is good for them and for us.” The woman who led them through the building wore beautiful, brown skin and a red jumpsuit that suited her well, Joana decided. It fit her in all of the right places, dipping along a trim waist and flaring along her legs.
> 
> “...a combination of our decisions and yours has led to us deciding you’re ready. You were given the option to leave earlier, but this is another - if you are not prepared, do feel free to go. Transportation, as always, is waiting outside.” She offered a wide grin and dry, soulless eyes that Joana found it difficult to focus on - anyone with any amount of power in the Offshore had the same vacant features, and there was a chilling removal to it that made her look around herself, studying everything in sight with suspicious eyes.  
> 
> 
> Three people left, leaving five behind - Joana, two men, a woman, and Agata.
> 
> “We will move through all of the relevant departments first, and what is inside will be explained to you. Here.” She lifted her hand and tapped on her right ear with the painted smile. “Individually, you’ll receive messages relevant to you - in some rooms, you will hear silence. In others, you’ll receive information based on how suited you are to the department. That has been determined by interactions you have had both during the Process and while on the Offshore. When the tour is over, you’ll be given time to decide whether or not you’re suited for any of the departments. Do your utmost to choose somewhere you’re suited for.” 
> 
> She flashed the fake smile again and let it fall away as she turned down the hall. The remaining bodies followed obediently, their feet beating the perfectly waxed floor. No one ever told them who did the cleaning in the Offshore, and Joana wasn’t certain why anyone would willingly volunteer to unless they had memorized the mantra every one of the 3% had heard since they arrived.
> 
> The Offshore is paradise. The Offshore is a better life.
> 
> They all knew it, but that didn’t mean care and caution disappeared. That had grown with her as a child, and even in the face of safety, she continued to find herself looking for danger.
> 
> “You’re Joana, right? We were in the same cycle of the Process - the hundredth and-”  
> 
> 
> Joana flicked her gaze to Agata and pulled it away just as quickly. The gesture was enough for the woman to shrink, her hand lifting slightly and brushing against the ribbon that held her dark hair in place. 
> 
> “...I’m Agata. If you don’t remember. I just wanted to apologize for-”  
> 
> 
> Joana’s eyes flicked over again, darting toward her and away. The face was one she recognized, and she discredited it just as quickly - her mind flicked to the compound, to the moment she found herself pressed against the bathroom wall, hands at her throat and her body struggling to pull in air. She’d been nearly content to die then... and that was why she brushed the woman off, turning her attention away and focusing on the inside of yet another room she heard nothing in.
> 
> It wasn’t the fact that Agata had wanted to kill her, but the fact that she’d made her accept death.
> 
> Beside her, Agata relaxed her lips and looked away with a bare sigh. She didn’t look much different than she had during the Process, she decided; nearly everyone put on weight, filling out on food that was plentiful and easily available. She hadn’t, though, and that was curious - it meant she wasn’t eating, and that was either a result of self control or an inability. Somehow, Joana doubted it came down to controlling herself.
> 
> _Maybe the Offshore isn’t better for everyone._
> 
> That was her last thought before the sound of a siren tore through her mind, forcing her to double over and clutch at her ears. Her mouth opened, and she had the sense that she was screaming, that she was crying out in pain, but she heard nothing and felt nothing but her brain quaking, every neuron set alight and the sensations tearing through her all at once.
> 
> She managed to open her eyes once as the sound rang, and for no more than a second. It was enough, however, to see a figure tearing across the building, darting out of her sight nearly as soon as it had appeared.
> 
> And then the sound stopped again, and Joana was staring at Agata with tears in her eyes and her hands held to her ears. Joana was staring at Agata who stared after the figure, looking as if she hadn’t heard the sound at all.

**_Rafael and Miguel_ **

> “Rafael Moreir. I watched your tapes - you were a stupid one through and through. It’s hard to believe no one caught you, but then again, Ezequiel is… stuck in his own ways.” The man who spoke took in a deep breath and released it with a note of quiet irritation. In his hand, he held the glass lenses the Offshore provided for identification purposes; they were meant to be for security and nothing else, but there were other uses, and they could be easily found if someone happened to have the drive.
> 
> “I tell you… that man would sniff his own underwear just to inform the rest of us what his sweat smells like - chocolate and the sweetest guava, no doubt.” He laughed, throwing a mane of red, kinky curls back too. The man was older than Rafael - by no more than a few years, it seemed - but could have passed for a child on the Inland. He had the attitude of one too: he was too dramatic. Too flowery. Too confident.
> 
> “If you can see all of that, who’s to say no one can see what’s happening in here?” Half an hour before, Rafael had heard a sharp tone concentrated in his right ear, and seconds later, he was out. His vision went black, and he felt a piercing pain that persisted through the darkness, disappearing only when he woke up to find himself tied up in a chair and facing the man opposite him.
> 
> “Mm-mm. They can’t. ‘The people need some semblance of privacy’, they say. ‘We have gathered the best of the best, and for that, we will congratulate them with the security and peace of mind they seek’. Fortunately for us, peace of mind happens to include privacy.” The man flicked his gaze over Rafael again, studying him carefully until he pushed off of the bed and left the room. A minute later, he returned with an assortment of fruit and settled on the bed, his fingers digging to pull the hearts of the fruit out carefully. “No cameras. No listening devices. No function for your chip or mine short of identification purposes. And, of course, accessing anything on the servers - the contents of videos, our Process, so on and so forth. I suspect those who come in after us will receive a different version considering the threat the Offshore faces, but for now…”
> 
> Rafael watched as he carefully licked the red juice off of his fingers. What he didn’t catch made its way down his elbow, dripping on to his lap and staining the brown he wore where it fell 
> 
> “Are you here to make conversation, or to try to seduce me?”
> 
> “Neither. Do let me know if one of those happens to work, though.” He smirked, and a second later, returned to the fruit in his hands. “We know this about you, Moreir - that you were part of the Cause, and that your registration doesn’t belong to you. I can guess who it does belong to - you were in every single one of Rafael’s ‘treasured’ photographs, so we’ll call you his brother. His cousin. His boyfriend. Something close.”
> 
> “Why are you here?” If games were what the man wanted to play, Rafael wasn’t interested. He had had more than enough of those with merit and their silly rituals. “Goes better for both of us if you let me know, doesn’t it? You can remove my head now, and get it over with it. Slit my throat now. Haul me in for torture, anything you want as long as you’re certain. I don’t see a reason for you to wait-” Rafael leaned in as much as the ropes would allow, “-unless you’re part of the Cause too.”
> 
> “The drugs must be in your system. You’re usually faster than this, Raf. Not fast enough - remember the cube debacle - but faster.” He offered a sly, judgmental grin that disappeared a second later, dropping away as he brought the pomegranate to his full lips. 
> 
> Objectively, he was attractive. It was a strange, pleasing sort of attractive that made him question himself; on a woman, he wouldn’t have been drawn to the rich splattering of freckles or sparse brows, and yet he took him in quietly then, studying the redhead.
> 
> “Save us the effort, then. And your ego.” Rafael snorted, his head turning slightly to focus on the disturbingly immaculate wall off of his left shoulder. 
> 
> It wasn’t until the man had finished off his meal that he sat back with a slight hum. “When people leave the Process, they’re given instructions on how to recover from the trauma. They’re told not to think about it or talk about it, as that would force them to relive it and any negative feelings. They’re told one of the greatest joys in life is having children, and then they’re pushed toward the gate and back into an ugly world.” What he hadn’t eaten of the pomegranate was placed on the desk beside him, and his hands brushed slowly over the material of his pants. “And when we passed, we were sterilized. There’s always someone who reasons why it should be okay in the crowd, but it isn’t okay, is it? Not for many of us.”
> 
> The image of himself standing in the midst of people who disappeared one by one registered in Rafael’s mind. He’d been last, and very nearly made the decision to leave - the Cause stood on one side, and the threat of losing the children he had always longed for was on the other. 
> 
> “…what does that have to do with anything?”
> 
> “I’ll explain it to you.” He leaned forward, and a wide, childish grin pulled on to his face. “We tell them to have children to continue filling the Offshore. When the children of any substance come here, we sterilize them, thereby removing them from the gene pool.” The man blinked thoughtfully as he sat back. “A red woman and a blue man have a 10% chance of having a purple baby. Purple is what we want, so we take all of their children and wait to see which ones are purple. If they turn out red or blue, we send them back. 90% of them will be of no direct use to us, so we send them back.
> 
> “The purple baby that we have now has a 75% chance of having purple babies, and a 25% chance of having something else. The chance is high, but we don’t want to risk another kind of baby, so we sterilize the purple baby. Now we can’t get any more purples from them, so we go back into the population and look at their six siblings. Four of them have a 0% chance of having a purple baby, but two of them have a 5% chance. See what happened there? The babies we want are possible, but the chance of finding them is quickly going down. Eventually, we’re not going to have a chance of finding any purple babies out there, and because all of the purple people in here are sterilized, our purple society has died.”
> 
> It took time for Rafael to turn the chatter into something sensible, and the more he realized what was being said to him, the more his eyes widened. “…no more purple people, and the Offshore dies.”
> 
> “The Offshore! Exactly! Now how do you solve that? Mm? I’ll give you a lot of hints - it involves doctors and scientists.”
> 
> “…technology. Experiments… experimentation.” His eyes lifted, and for a moment, his green were focused on the man’s brown.
> 
> “Experiments.” He nodded slightly. “Two kinds primarily - immortality and gene splicing. Once one of those succeeds, they won’t need the Process. Those on the Inland stay on the Inland, and any amount of hope they would’ve had in the world disappears too.”
> 
> Rafael was silent as he stared at the man, considering him and his words quietly. It wasn’t until he was certain he wasn’t accepting the words at face value that he leaned forward again, his eyes narrowed slightly.
> 
> “And who are you?”
> 
> “Second version of the Cause, you could say? Only better and with larger numbers on the inside.” He pursed his lips carefully, then pulled to his feet and smoothly pulled out a knife to set it along the rope that held Rafael in place. “You’re not much of a fighter. Don’t pretend you are, mm?” With that said, he swiped smoothly, fraying the rope until he was ready to sit back. 
> 
> In response, the brunet grumbled slightly and focused on rubbing carefully at his wrists and ankles.
> 
> “Feel free to tell me what’s on your mind?”
> 
> “We can start with what your name is. I’ve asked three times already.” He flicked a sharp gaze over, staring pointedly.
> 
> “Miguel. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know me.” As he said as much, he offered an even smile.
> 
> “What was that sound? The sound before I was knocked out?”
> 
> “That was us too. I’ll show you.” Miguel turned from him and held his ear. “Rafael Moreir,” he murmured, and when the words were said, a faint buzz sounded in the brunet’s ear.


End file.
